


Helping the little guy

by Justkelsey



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Spider-Man: Homecoming Spoilers, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justkelsey/pseuds/Justkelsey
Summary: Peter doesn't know what the correlation is between vigilantes and dumpsters, but there definitely is one. He's sure of it.Or; The one where Peter meets Daredevil for the first time in Spider-man homecoming.
Relationships: Matt Murdock & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 294





	Helping the little guy

A 15-year-old Peter Parker walked the streets of New York in only Hello Kitty pajama pants and a too-large "I survived New York" shirt. Tired, sore, and wanting nothing more than to go home.

Today had sucked, majorly. He had tried to stop those guys at the ferry, he had. But look where it got him. His mentor- His hero, yelling at him. Worse, Peter had disappointed him and failed to do one thing he was supposed to do; Protect New York.

Already, a thousand what if's played through his mind. What he could've done better, what fighting techniques he should've used instead, and that maybe if Peter had gone to band practice like he said he would, none of this wouldn't be happening right now. All those people wouldn't have been endangered by Peter's stupid mistake. He didn't even want to think about what would've happened if Iron man hadn't been there.

Some part of him still wanted to argue that it wouldn't have happened if Mr. Stark had just _listened_ to him, then he wouldn't have even been there in the first place. But Mr. Stark had listened, Peter had seen it for himself. Those FBI guys had been on the ferry. They were going to take out those guys. And it was Peter's fault they hadn't.

The teenager could feel eyes on him wherever he walked, his outfit being the last thing from inconspicuous.

But that was Peter's fault too. As soon as Tony had supplied him with the extra clothes, Peter had hightailed it from the building, shame and regret burning through him. Peter didn't even think he could withstand a car ride with Tony's driver, Happy. The guilt was too much.

The clothing didn't make Peter’s day any better. This had made the walk from some part of lower Manhattan to Queens that much longer in Peter's mind. Of course, he had to be halfway across the city. Just his Parker luck. To make matters worse, he wasn't entirely sure where exactly he was. It was easy navigating from above, he had a bird's eye view of everything. But down here? He could barely see the next block. With no extra mode of transportation, he was left with no choice as it was. He didn't have a subway card or even a hint of cash on him, his phone was dead, and without his suit, he didn't have his web-shooters. Which would've made the trip in the 80-degree weather far shorter. He bet he could even get back to Queens in under 14 minutes with those. But Peter didn't have any of those things. So, he was left to walk alone with only his thoughts and the loud noise of the city to keep him company.

And to top it off, all he could think about was Tony's words. No matter how many times he tried pushing it out of his mind. It was like his brain refused to think of anything else, a repeat of the same self-loathing track. And Peter was torn, truly. Because he didn't know if he really deserved that suit after all. After what Tony said to him. He really wanted it, sure. And Peter knew without a single doubt that he'd always be Spiderman. But the suit? Mr. Stark had made it for him. But he screwed up, plain as that, no way around it. Peter had screwed up- Spiderman had.

_"If you're nothing without this suit then you don't deserve it."_

God, Peter just really wanted to go home and sleep for eternity. All of this was exhausting and Peter was far past exhausted. He was dead on his feet and barely scraping by. Today could not possibly get worse.

Just as Peter is running through all the different excuses he could use for his Aunt when he gets home, he hears something. A yell. If not for his enhanced hearing he probably wouldn't have even heard it. And upon glancing at the people around him, they hadn't either. It was getting darker out, the sun casting shadows on the towering skyscrapers. Of course, crime was starting to come out already.

Against Peter's better judgment and all logic, he goes toward the sound. He's not sure why, but his feet keep moving. Despite the voice in the back of his head clearly stating that he didn't have his suit. Despite everything that had happened today -from the suit itself to the ferry- Peter goes toward the sound because he knows if he doesn't help then his powers would go toward nothing.

And maybe Uncle Ben hadn't meant for Peter to fight crime when he said with great power comes great responsibility, but Peter helps anyway. Because if he didn’t help the little guy, who would?

Only problem? Peter hadn't really thought this out. At all. So when he comes across a group of men harassing a homeless man in an alley, all he can manage is a weak, "Hey!"

He knows he must look rather scrawny and strange without his suit to back him up, but Peter's determined, he had to do something. Anything. He can't just let it happen.

The men all look over at him, momentarily distracting them from their previous efforts in kicking and harassing the homeless man who lay at the mouth of the alley, bleeding. Peter clenched his teeth. Sometimes he hated New York, even if it was his home.

"Get lost, kid! Ain't none yo' business!" Shouts one in a thick New-York accent, smirking.

With what little breeze came between the buildings, he caught the smell of cheap cologne and various types of booze on them. His senses dialed up nearly making him gag, the dumpster behind the stupid jerk's certainly didn't make it better.

At their friend's joke, the others behind him laugh and go back to beating on the old man. Barely blinking an eye at the scrawny teen. Between one sickening kick and the next, the homeless man groans in pain. Peter moves forward before he can stop himself.

"Hey! Get off him!" Peter's voice cracks in his panic to get to the man.

But before he can get a foot closer to help, Peter's intercepting a punch to the stomach so suddenly that the breath is knocked out of him. Another punch comes down on his cheekbone, and then on his stomach again. Maybe it was the exhaustion getting to him. Maybe just panic. But Peter had not been prepared for any of these attacks, shock leaving him vulnerable to their punches. It's not long before Peter finds himself knocked to the ground while they pummel him furiously.

Spiderman could've handled this, he would have dodged and weaved and left these guys on their butts. But Peter isn't Spiderman right now. He's just Peter Parker. And Peter Parker isn't strong enough to take down a group of men. Peter Parker can't even stand up to Flash Thompson. He doesn't make a move to fight back, despite his senses going haywire, warning him of the danger he could do nothing to stop. If he were to fight these guys off, they'd know. Peter Parker doesn't have super strength, Spiderman does.

He can't reveal his secret. Even with the panic coming in waves through him, he doesn’t fight back. His secret had always come first, it still did. So Peter just takes it.

He barely has enough sense to get his hands up, fruitlessly trying to block the blows raining down on him. His head spins, every blow jarring and knocking him around like a pinball machine. He didn't think it would ever end. It wasn't long before his ribs started hurting something bad. His body curling in on itself in a weak form of self-preservation. Sure, even Spiderman could take just about any punch thrown at him, but not forever.

At least they weren't hurting the homeless man, Peter thought dazedly through the pain. This was definitely going to bruise tomorrow.

It could have been seconds later or minutes, Peter couldn't tell. But something happened, too fast for Peter to comprehend. The blows on his body stopped all at once, the men above him moving away without previous notice. Cries of pain came from further down the alley. Peter tried to tell what was going on but his vision was failing him, dots dancing wildly before his eyes. The teenager could just barely make out a blurry red-figure among other quickly falling figures. 

"Mr. S-stark?" Peter gasped out, fresh pain still blossoming across his abdomen. Eyes squinting in a lost effort to see what was going on. Had Tony come to save him?

Yells and the sound of grunting went on, the unmistakable sound of fighting further down the alley unstopped. But the red figure drew closer, nearly stepping where Peter lay. He couldn't stop himself from flinching. But just like before, things happened too fast for Peter to catch up. Within seconds the gravel beneath him was disappearing and the scent of blood and kevlar replaced it. It took a second for Peter to discern but he realized he was being- carried? The person's hands grazed Peter's ribs for a brief moment and he released a whimper before he could stop himself.

"Sorry, wait here for a second." A deep growly voice said.

Definitely not Mr. Stark.

The contact was brief, it must've barely taken a couple of seconds at most. But then the red figure was gone and Peter was fastly approaching a- squishy ground? The landing definitely wasn't gentle by any means but it was far better than his previous position, you know, being pummeled into the ground.

The fighting sounded more distant now, wherever Peter was. He was still trying to figure that out. His head still hadn't stopped ringing and dots took up a majority of his vision. Thinking clearly was a feat on its own. Though he was able to determine that his head hurt badly, a symptom of a concussion probably. Not a problem Peter had ever really considered, within an hour it would have already healed itself.

And then Peter was able to figure out where he was, if it wasn't the darkness that gave it away then it was the stench of old Chinese food.

Peter was in a dumpster.

It only seemed to add to the avalanche-like degree of his misfortune to the day. Things really could get worse it turned out.

Slowly, Peter heard the sound of fighting die off bit by bit. Until he could no longer hear the sound of metal hitting bone or the sound of it whistling through the air before it made contact. Only leaving the background noise of the city in its place.

Had he just left? Peter wondered for a moment. Maybe, not many wanted to stick around in time for the cops. Including Spiderman.

But then a light was blinding Peter's rectennas and he realized it was the guy dressed in red, he was standing over the dumpster. Peter closed his eyes against the sudden burst of sunlight that sent painful spikes through his skull. Yep, that was a concussion. Albeit, looking a little concerned, the masked guy didn't ask if he was okay. Both were silent as Peter took a moment to try to reorient himself. Peter was glad the guy hadn't said anything. He didn't want to be pitied or doted on. It was his fault he was in this mess in the first place. You didn't have to tell him that.

A couple of moments passed and the guy in red -wait were those horns?- stuck out his hand to help Peter out of the dumpster. Which a rather sore Peter grabbed gratefully. With the help of the horned dude, he was able to climb his way out of the dumpster. The fresh air felt better at least. Even concussed it was hard not to smell. This wasn't the first and certainly wasn't the last time Peter would end up in a dumpster. It wasn't pleasant.

Upon being placed firmly on his feet, Peter unceremoniously vomited onto the ground. His stomach clenched painfully, either it be from all the intake via his senses that were far too overwhelming or his fresh injuries, the bile burned its way up his throat. And it took the teenager longer than he'd care to admit to raise himself into an upright position.

And wasn't that weird, the masked hero was still standing there, piercing him with an intense stare. Seeming to switch his focus between Peter and the homeless man in his long silences. It just seemed so odd to Peter. Nobody -especially no vigilante- stuck around this long. The cops were too great of a risk. But this guy, whoever he was, seemed to be considering the situation in deep thought before stating in a monotone voice, "Your ribs are fractured.”

How this guy knew that Peter didn't know. He didn't care too much anyway, it'd heal.

And before the red-suited man could cut in with any more shocking revelations about him, Peter was already making his way back to the man still laying on the ground. The homeless man wasn't doing much better than Peter and looked pretty out of it. He barely looked conscious. Guilt ebbed its way through the injured teen, thinking about a dozen other ways he could've helped this man but was too late to do so.

Peter had a lot of guilt, mainly just on nights when he was thinking about his Uncle or crimes he couldn't help or fix. Nights when Peter tried to have fun, but guilt sat at the back of his mind, reminding him he should be helping instead of watching movies with Ned or Aunt May. Fun felt fake these days. Lately, Peter had become well acquainted with guilt, an old friend, and only companion when he couldn't sleep and couldn't help overthinking.

Even though pain was lacing its way up his side, Peter still attempted to lift the man. Limbs shaking. He didn't get very far before the horned hero was gently pushing him aside and easily lifting the battered man. Making the weak attempt look pathetic in comparison. The stare he pierced Peter with looked almost empty like he could see right through him. It was unnerving, to say the least.

"You're injured. Don't strain yourself or you'll make it worse." The man's voice wasn't scolding but kinder. The grating voice replaced with a more considerate inflection. Peter didn't try to understand why the man had stuck around or even why the drunken thugs laid in a pile off to the side, almost like he didn't want him to see. Peter didn't know a lot of other vigilantes or their practices but even then it seemed odd.

"I'm fine," Even with the mask, it wasn't hard to tell the man was unimpressed with the excuse. "Besides," said Peter, ignoring the look the vigilante was giving him. "He's more injured than I am."

The man gave an aloof sound in his throat, not agreeing but not outright denying it either. Peter would take that as a win.

But the hero seems to be contemplating the situation, the homeless man in his arms and the bruised teenager before him. At this point, the street lights came on and the fading light of the afternoon was lost behind the towering buildings. And they're all looking pretty rough. Aunt May was gonna kill him for breaking curfew.

"I have to get you both to a hospital," The man in red decides. Peter barely holds back a snort. Yeah, that wasn't happening. He didn’t have insurance and he definitely didn’t have any extra money around to pay for an out-of-pocket ER trip. And that’s not even considering that the hospital would find out about Peter's genetics being mutated. Because hey, he was pretty sure fractured ribs didn't heal in a day.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to take a hard pass on that one.”

The vigilante gives Peter another look. And okay, Peter's a little jealous. He was almost positive his suit didn't have that much facial range.

"And why is that?" The man in question asks.

"It's getting late, you know. Time to hit the hay. Places to go, people to see." Peter rambled like he often did when he was anxious.

He really did need to get home, the sooner the better, and preferably without a horned vigilante shadowing him. He wouldn't be surprised if Aunt May had called the police department at this point. If Peter didn't find his way home soon, things were going to get very messy.

"If you're worried about being put into a home you don't have to worry, I know a youth shelter not too far from here." The vigilante declares softly.

There's a pregnant pause of silence in which Peter's brain struggles to compute the man's words. And then it clicks. From his face down to his toes, Peter flushes bright red.

He thinks Peter is homeless.

It wasn't that far of a stretch for the imagination Peter began to realize. He had been found in an alley beside a homeless man. That, and his clothes really weren't doing him any favors.

"I'm- It isn't-", Peter stuttered trying to explain himself before finally deciding on, "I'm not homeless!"

The horned hero seems a bit surprised by Peter's outburst but doesn’t argue with Peter, instead going for a simple, “Oh, do you need me to escort you home then?”

“No, no- I’m good.” Peter stammers, the combination of his concussion and natural awkwardness making for an even akwarder response. “Thank you though, Mr. Devil-man. I- really do appreciate the offer, but I can get home fine by myself.”

“No problem, kid. If you ever need any help, just yell, I’ll hear you.” The vigilante responds, ever serious.

Peter is halfway down the alleyway now, too focused on getting back to his apartment to consider the merits of yelling for help in New York and this guy somehow hearing it. And he’s about to leave the entire mess behind him when it suddenly occurs to him. Peter has no idea where he is.

“Actually, would you happen to know which direction Queens is in?”

* * *

It is nearly a year later, when both Spiderman and Daredevil have been well-acquainted and know each other’s identities, that Peter realizes something for the first time.

Peter had asked the only blind hero in New York for directions.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an old work I had sitting in my google docs, I wrote this probably about a month or two after Spider-man homecoming came out. If that tells you anything about how long ago I wrote this. Hope you enjoyed it :)


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